What Makes You Happy
by xgossamerstars
Summary: T/MF. Yeah, you read it right. People request strange things. Anyway, I don't own Metalocalypse so don't sue me.


He had no idea why the hell Toki had suddenly developed such a fascination with lethal weapons, but he wasn't complaining. He would never complain about having company late at night, he'd never complain about actually having someone to talk to and spend time with…especially someone with abs like _that…_

Murderface shook his head hard, wishing he could slice the gay part of his brain out and trying to remember just what it was Toki had asked him. Unfortunately, Toki was standing there in his cloud pajama pants with no shirt to speak of…

"Murderface?"

Hadn't it been something about that sword he was holding…?

"Murderface?" Toki asked again, and waved his calloused hand in front of the bassist's face. His other hand was holding the long, thin sword at his side, the tip of which was now resting on Murderface's dark floor.

Normally, Murderface would have a fit about his prized possessions touching the floor, but since it was Toki…he blinked once or twice and mumbled, "Shorry, I wasch…er, dischtracted. What'sch up?"

"I askeds yous whats you calls this sword-thingy," Toki asked, holding the blade straight out from his body in a mock-fencing stance. "Is pretty."

"It'sch called a katana," Murderface said, "Kinda Japanesche thing."

"Katsana?" Toki asked, wrinkling his nose as if the foreign word tasted bad.

Murderface felt a grin spreading over his face, and tried hard not to make it too sappy. God, but the kid was cute when he fucked up his words.

"Ka-ta-na," Murderface said slowly, and waited to see how Toki would pronounce it this time.

"Ka…tans…na? I gives up, I can'ts talks right anyways. I likes it though…coulds you…coulds you maysbe finds me ones someswhere?" he asked, a little sheepishly. He handed the now-sheathed sword back to Murderface, handle first, like he'd been taught the night before.

"You can have it," Murderface said, and this time he failed miserably at making his grin un-sappy. Toki's bright eyes looked so damn _excited._

"For seriouslies?" Toki asked, looking down at the intricately-woven sheath, the ivory handle. "Yous…yous really gives it to mes?"

"Shure, why not?" Murderface replied, "It…makesch ya happy."

"Does it nots makes you happy no mores?" Toki asked, suddenly looking concerned. "I's don'ts wants to be makins yous unhappy."

_Now how the fuck am I gonna phrase this without sounding like a fucking faggot?_ Murderface thought, as he opened his mouth to speak.

"It'sch not that it doeschn't make me happy or…whatever, if you're happy I'm happy," he replied, and for the life of him he could not stop the blood that rushed to his cheeks as he spoke.

Toki grinned again—it was slightly smug and somehow _knowing,_ as if all Murderface's attempts to kill off his gay side were utter failures.  
Which they probably were, but that wasn't the point.

"I's always happy," Toki mumbled, stepping so close to his bandmate that Murderface felt his face turning every single shade of red in the fucking spectrum. "When I'ms withs you, that is."

The next second, Murderface was suddenly absolutely certain that he was having some sort of very vivid dream; there was no way in hell he was standing in his room like a fucking statue while Toki was kissing him; fuck, there was no way Toki was kissing him, period, it _must_ be a dream…

Murderface was used to making the best of dreams. He kissed back, tentatively at first, then with an unbridled heat he was _certain_ he was only capable of in his dreams.

"Hmm…sees yous tomorrow nights?" Toki mumbled against his mouth.

Murderface nodded. He nodded hard—with any luck, this dream would recur, and possibly be longer…and better…

He watched, reeling, as Toki tucked his gift lovingly in the crook of his arm and opened the door to Murderface's bedroom. Before he stepped out into the hall, he looked back, smiled, and said, "Pinch yourselfs or somethins—yous not dreamins."

Murderface did as he was told.

It hurt.

Quite a lot, actually.

When he fell into bed a few minutes later, he was still grinning.

For once in his life he didn't give a flying fuck if it was a sappy grin or not.


End file.
